Summary: Spike and Buffy meet again post-Angel finale: "The point is she's moving on. You do the same, and you might catch her one day." Or she might catch you.

Timeline: Post-Angel Series finale. Mmm, denial.

Originally Published/Completed: May 2004

Awards Won: "Best Short" and "Best Post-Finale Fic" from Sunnydale Memorial FF Awards, "Best Short Story Runner-up"Award from Love's Last Glimpse, and more.

Author's Note: Unlike pretty much everyone on earth, I loved 'The Girl In Question', and I wanted to take Movin'-On Buffy all the way: what sort of woman would she become if she went on like this? What if she was completely un-fucked up and comfortable in her skin; one of those "know what I want and how to get it" women? And what if she wanted Spike, and he happened to be not busy? Also, thanks to Sallyanne for coming up with a sufficiently dorky first name when I needed it.

Author's Note The Second: This was obviously written long before Joss went and nullified TGIQ with the Season 8 comics (which I'm thoroughly enjoying, for the record). So, pretend you don't know about that. Kthnx!

Distribution: Links only, please. Do not reprint. Do not post translations. Thanks!

Rights: I do not own these characters or the worlds they inhabit. However, the text I have written is not YOURS to paste into your own fic in any way, shape or form. That is called plagiarism, and it is not cool. Not that YOU would ever do that, because YOU are awesome. Obviously. :)

"Hi, Spike."

Nine years, two almost-apocalypses, one great big seemingly permanent death come and gone since she's seen him last, and that's all she has to say? 'Hi, Spike'?

But then a corner of her mouth upturns for a sly smile, and he doesn't need anything more.

He drops his cigarette and grinds it under his boot without looking down. Seeing her again is... well, it's a nice surprise. "Hello, Buffy."

Level gaze never leaving his, she says, "It's been a really long time."

But time has been kind to her. Supple and achingly beautiful as ever, she hasn't changed a bit; except for an appealing new glint in her eye — the glint of a woman who's found herself, and likes everything she found. "You look good."

"And you look the same."

He raises a brow, drops it. "Once a vampire..."

"Always pretty," she concludes.

He stares at this new Buffy for a moment too long, then figures he should say something else. "How's your boyfriend?"

She sizes him up, draws in a breath, then lifts her eyes to his. "I'm looking at options."

Oh. Well that's— Is she—?

"How 'bout you?"

"Wha'?"

"Girlfriend?"

"Oh, well," he scratches the back of his head, focusing on the pavement, "there were two or three... Five, actually. Well, a few, you know, girls here and there but not what I'd call 'friends' so much as..." He looks at her again and comes clean. "No. No one."

She seems mildly amused. The Slayer at thirty-one: confident, worldly-wise, and intoxicatingly sexy. It throws him off, it makes him curious; this is bad and he should probably go before he makes more of an ass of himself.

But first, he has to ask. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting a coffee?"

Following her gesture, he notices that they're in spitting range of a Starbucks. He points at the sign. "They're not just in London, you know."

"Well... I'm also catching up with old friends."

His cue to let her leave, get on with things. "Right. I get the picture." He sticks out his hand. "It's been, um—"

Their hands touch. No fiery combustion this time — of the visible sort, anyway.

She isn't letting go. She's very close and she isn't letting go. He searches her expression, and it finally hits him — why she's here in London, outside the Starbucks a block from his basement flat.

"Are you busy?"

Entranced, he swallows, shakes his head no.

"Wanna come with?"

A giddiness that only she brings out zipping through his veins, he twines his fingers through hers. "Can think of a lot better places for coffee, love."

"Oh yeah?" A tease of a challenge. "Like where?"

He tugs her by the hand until their sides touch, then drapes an arm over her back to squeeze her far shoulder. Nods down the street. "That little shop, for one."

"I don't know." They start to walk. "Starbucks understands coffee. The English? Not so much."

"D'you want the inside tour or what?"

"Okay, but no tea, and no shepherd's pie."

"Pity. This one pub makes a brilliant tea pie hacked straight from a mad cow and sprinkled with Earl Grey, honestly you don't know what you're missing."

Grip tightening at his waist, she glances up at him. "I'm starting to remember."

He looks down at her and smirks. "About bloody time."

THE END

Characters and settings property of respective creators.Story, dialog and prose property of NautiBitz.All rights reserved. (IE, it is not okay to borrow it for your fic.)

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